Riot Rhythm
by afastmachine
Summary: In which Hook is oddly prescient. Sequel to Don't Touch.


There wasn't SUPPOSED to be a sequel to Don't Touch, but I was wanting to write some smutty CS and I was egged on by my lovely shipmates on tumblr. Dedicated to my wonderful inspiration-feeders: colinodonorgasm, musingsfrommymessymind, and lovingcaptainswan. One day I will write sweet, romantic, loving sex. Today is not that day.

* * *

"Are you kidding me!? You can't just _say_ things like that to him!" Emma screeches once the door is firmly shut behind her. "We agreed not to talk about it!"

Hook raises an eyebrow at her, cocky grin still on his face. She feels the burning urge to hit him rising up inside her and it's a truly wonderful feeling that she desperately wants to give into.

"I made no such agreement, darling. You can't really expect a man to resist when your father goes around saying things like _that_. I merely stated that I had a talented tongue!"

"You _know_ he was talking about the mermaids, you asshole. You didn't have to fucking _wink_ at me and then _ask if I agreed_."

He has the nerve to step closer to her, the very damned appendage they're discussing darting out to lick at his lips.

"Wouldn't you agree, though?" His voice drops, husky and gravel and oh _hell no_. "After all, you have...first hand experience, do you not? Or," he whispers, "would you like a reminder?" He's so close he's breathing on her now, hot puffs of hair sending goosebumps down her skin.

Determined to not let it get to her Emma narrows her eyes at him. "You're just _begging_ to be slapped in that pretty face of yours, aren't you?"

The bastard fucking _waggles his eyebrows_ at her.

"If that's what you're into, love. Though I think we've quite firmly discovered," he pauses and leans in even closer, lips hovering inches from hers, _daring_ her to move, " that what you're _really_ into," he licks his lips again, drawing it out, "is _me_." His gaze flickers down her body, hot and needy and stripping away every layer of clothing she has on, and she recognizes that look far too well. Except this time he has full control of his facilities and he's still undressing her with his eyes. Fucking asshole.

The worst part is that she's not moving away from him. She's just standing there and he's getting closer and closer.

"I'm not having sex with you, Hook," she manages to snap, but it comes out as less of a firm statement and more of a flexible opinion.

His eyes twinkle with mischief and he leans in, lips brushing against her ear.

"_Again_. You're not having sex with me _again_," he says before pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss against the skin under her ear, dragging his mouth down the curve of her neck, wet and insisting.

Jesus fucking _christ_ this is not happening. She's pissed at him and she really wants to hit him but she can feel the arousal starting low in her belly, her body swaying towards his. Her head involuntarily tilts back, giving him more access, and he chuckles against her skin, his arms coming up to close the distance between their bodies.

The instant they connect it feels like an electric spark shoots through her body and she can't control the moan that escapes her lips. He presses against her like her wants to crawl inside her skin, and at this rate, Emma is likely to let him. His body is hot against hers, not unnaturally hot like before, but still burning against her skin, even through both their clothing. He's mouthing at the side of her neck now, alternating between nipping and sucking, sure to leave a mark and it feels really fucking good anyway.

It occurs to her that they're supposed to be _fighting_. Before this goes any further(and if she's honest, there is no way she's _not_ letting it go further, not with the way she can feel heat between her legs and she is making him finish what he started so help her god), she needs to make herself clear.

Going with the tried and true, she buries her fingers in his hair and pulls. His lips detach from her skin with an obscene wet sound and he licks his lips, grinning at her as his head comes up.

"Hair, right. Forgot how much you were into that," he murmurs, his voice already rough and sex-wrecked and they haven't even gotten to the fucking yet. It does terrible things to her, really.

"Hm. Before anything happens, you're making a promise," Emma says, hardening her voice the best she can, purposefully ignoring his hand, which has found its way under her shirt is currently rubbing up and down her back, inching her top higher with every movement.

He hums, tilting his head to the side when Emma releases him, her hands sliding down out of his hair, one resting on his shoulder while the other drifts further, sliding around his waist.

"If you _ever_ say _anything_ to _anyone_ about us, I will kick your ass into next week." He grins widely, mouth opening to retort, surely.

It dies in his throat, turning to a low groan when she drifts down and grabs his ass, pulling him against her tightly.

"Deal?" She smiles sweetly at him and he nods frantically, eyes rolling back into his head as she grinds against him again. "Sorry, what? I think I missed that."

He snaps his eyes back to her, gaze narrowing even through the lust coating it. "_Gods_, Emma," he growls. "Deal, fine."

"Great," she grins perkily, sliding her hands away from him before deftly stepping out of his arms.

"Emma, what-" he freezes when she saunters past him, slapping his backside as she passes. It feels exhilarating, to have this much control, to know he's already fucked her but he would still do anything for the chance to have her again.

"C'mon, sailor," she says before hopping up on his desk, reaching down to toe off her shoes and socks. The view gives him a fantastic look down her shirt, she knows, and it seems to defrost him quickly enough; his gaze travels up her body, lingering at her spread thighs dangling over the edge of his desk, her fingers curling in the hem of her shirt. She quirks an eyebrow at him before pulling it over her head in one swift motion. It gets tossed to the side, her bra quickly following.

What is it about men? It's like he's never seen her without clothes before, the way he's staring at her like her body is the second coming.

That train of thought is cut off as he takes one swift step towards her, moving comfortably between her spread legs. His hand slides around her waist and down to her ass, pulling her tight against him, making her groan, the feel of him right there, warm and hard between her legs and _so good_. Her breath is coming out in pants now, sweat breaking out on her skin as she squirms against him, trying to get friction anywhere she can find it.

He takes advantage of her still-open mouth to kiss her, not even bothering with pleasantries, just thrusting straight in, desperate to taste every inch of the inside of her. Equally as determined, Emma licks back into his mouth, curling around his teeth, pressing back against him. She slides her hands against his chest, frustrated with his the number of layers he's still wearing. She manages to pop the first button on his vest before his hook snags her hand away from him, pulling it away and to the side of her body.

Growling, he slides his hand between them, firmly pushing her back to lie flat against the wood, following closely. The new angle presses him against her even further, and they both groan into each other's mouths.

Abruptly, he leaves her mouth, turning his attention to her neck, his teeth scraping over the skin bluntly. His hand comes up to cup her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

There isn't any room between them but Emma's back arches off the desk anyways, her legs coming up around his waist, trying to pull them closer. He chuckles against her skin, his mouth maddeningly lazy as he moves across her collarbone.

"Stop teasing, Hook, _fuck_-" he cuts off her protests when he latches onto the curve of her breast, sucking hard, his hand still teasing the other.

Shit. She's gonna be covered in marks by the time he actually gets with the program. She bucks against him, but he doesn't budge, just hums against her skin and moves to the dip between her breasts, laying feather-light kisses against the skin there.

"Goddamn it, _come on_ you bastard," she hisses, twisting her fingers into his hair. He raises his head, but it's lazy, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face is _not_ what she wants to see.

"Oh no. I think, Emma Swan," he says, his voice a low purr against her already-sensitive skin, "I'm going to take my time with you." His grin is wicked and Emma feels the urge to slap him rising again.

"Fuck you," she snaps instead, tightening her grip on him, and he chuckles.

"You first," he growls. Jesus, does he _know_ what he sounds like? Of course he does. Stupid question. Every single action of his is carefully cultivated for just the right persona.

Captain fucking Hook.

How the hell did she get here.

It's something she's not really too interested in figuring out when suddenly his tongue is dipping into her belly button and that is _it_. She starts to inch up, sliding her elbows up under her, absolutely ready to give him a piece of her mind. And then his hand is between their bodies, right there, grinding down on her through her clothes, the perfect mix of pressure and friction. A moan slips out of her, completely against her will, and she _knows_ he's smirking.

He nips briefly at the curve of her hip and then _finally_ his fingers are slipping under the edge of her jeans. His thumb comes out to pop the button, and then the curve of his hook is sliding against her skin and just the thought of being _so close_ sends a shiver through her.

It's obvious he notices, because he pauses and presses a kiss right at the line of her underwear. Bastard.

And then he gives a sharp tug, pulling jeans and panties down her legs in one swift move. He strips them off her ankles and tosses them away. In that second, he seems to abandon subtlety, because he sinks to his knees and buries his entire face between her legs.

He skips the foreplay, thank god, and goes straight to the fucking, his tongue working its way inside her. His hand presses against her hip, holding her in place, while the curved edge of his hook rubs the outside of her thigh.

Emma arches up, her feet scrabbling at his back when he presses into her as far as he can, putting all his effort into it, like he does with everything. He noses at her clit and it's enough for her legs to start twitching over his shoulders. It takes all her strength to not just lock her thighs around him; keep him right where he is. Because _she_ has some fucking manners, unlike mister hey-look-at-how-fucking-talented-my-tongue-is.

But she really can't complain when he slides his hand down, thumbing at her clit, circling it and fucking into her with the same rhythm. It's enough to send sparks shooting through her lower half, and she feels the coil in her belly tightening. Dimly she registers that she's moaning and panting, sounds that would be utterly embarrassing if she wasn't sure he was one hundred percent otherwise occupied.

She digs her fingers into his hair, holding him there, too close to care if she's _bothering_ him. He picks up his pace, and she scrabbles her feet at his back, finally catching them on his shoulders. It creates just the right angle and before she knows it she feels herself tightening her grip on his skull, her breathing picking up.

"Oh, _fuck_," she moans, swallowing the yell that's fast on its heels as she comes hard, peaking around him, her legs trembling on his shoulders. He slows as she starts to come down, finally lifting his head when her feet slide off of his shoulders, her legs utterly boneless.

His face is slick, shiny from her juices, and his hair is stuck up everywhere. Her fault.

He looks beyond fuckable, and then he has the audacity to _lick his fucking lips_.

"Fuck," she moans again, the word slipping out without her permission. He smirks, of course.

"One day, love, I'm going to make you _scream_ my name," he says, sliding back to his feet with a grace that Emma really envies right about now. "And I mean my _real_ name."

"Are you kidding me," she asks, unable to muster any inflection, choosing to ignore the one day part of his declaration. She's still too high from her orgasm to want to get into one days.

"No," he says simply. Instead of touching her, which, really, sounds like a fantastic idea to Emma, he starts slipping the buttons on his vest.

Oh. Well, that works too, she thinks as he slips out of it, pulling his shirt off in the same movement, a trick he must have practiced quite a lot for it to look that smooth. Smooth, like him. He looks good; has _always_ looked good. He's not built, but he's not slender either, and Emma knows from experience that he's plenty firm under her fingers, has felt the flex of his biceps and the movement of his shoulders; he's function over looks, even though he looks pretty damn good right now.

Right, she was protesting.

"I don't _ever_ scream _anyone's_ name during sex, Hook." She adds his moniker just to screw with him, and it works. He looks up from unlacing his pants, eyes dark.

"We'll see," he murmurs, his hand coming up to rub at her knee, thumb trailing along the inside of her thigh.

She tries, but her body isn't listening to her, and she shivers under his touch.

He smirks. Fucker.

He's still smirking when he shoves his trousers down, stepping out of his boots, apparently having also perfected _that_ little trick over the years. Of course he would learn how to get out of his clothes as fast as possible.

And then he's standing there in front of her, naked as the day he was born, and Emma feels arousal shoot through her again. She shifts her hips and he eyes her hungrily, his own arousal very apparent, bobbing against his stomach.

Fuck. He's as big as she remembered. Her toes curl just at the thought of him inside her. Again. _Fuck_.

"Are you gonna just stand there or-" He cuts her off when he grips her thigh, just above her knee, and pulls, her hips sliding off the edge of the desk as he steps forward. Instinctively, she slips her legs over his hips, crossing her ankles. She uses the leverage to slide against him, grinding her hips against his. She lets out a groan and through her slitted eyelids she sees him grit his teeth together. He leans forward, bringing his bare chest into contact with hers, and Emma takes advantage of the movement to rub her breasts against him, relishing in the way his hips stutter against hers. Payback is exciting.

"You are _intoxicating_, you know that?" He pants against her mouth, breathing heavy as he leans his forehead against hers.

Instead of replying, she surges forward, capturing his lips. He opens to her instantly, letting her push her way into his mouth without a fight. It doesn't occur to her why until she feels the back of his hand flutter against her thigh and he's lining himself, the head of his cock bumping up against her entrance. She sucks his lip into her mouth, nipping at it, daring him to move.

He pushes at her thigh, flattening it against the edge of the desk, and then he's pressing into her. He's moving slow, too slow, inching along. But it feels amazing, and it's enough to push a gasp out of her, and she releases his lip. It occurs to her the second he pulls away that maybe letting go of that leverage was a bad idea, and then nothing occurs to her because he slams into her and she lets out a broken moan, her arms going around his neck. He stills, giving her a moment to adjust, and she takes it, panting into the side of his neck.

"Move," she says through gritted teeth, the moment gone, urging him forward by tightening her legs around him.

"Who am I to disappoint a lady?" He chuckles against her neck, slowly rotating his hips against her instead of thrusting. He's _teasing_ her.

"_Move_, asshole," she repeats, scraping her nails down his back. He nips at the juncture of her neck and shoulder in retaliation, but he does start moving, slow, long thrusts that start feeding the fire in her right away.

It's not exactly what she was wanting, but she can wait. He brings his hand up to cup the side of her face and he kisses her, this time demanding that he set the pace. It's lazy and unhurried, just like his fucking, just like _everything_ and if she wasn't enjoying it so much, she'd have something to say about it. Instead she clings to him and enjoys the friction between their bodies, the feel of his chest hair rubbing against her breasts, the slide of him in and out of her.

He's not fucking her now, he's making love, and it's starting to get on her nerves. That's not _them_. It's too _considerate_. It's not like there's any love between them to be made.

All of a sudden, it's too much, and she tightens her grip on his arm, fighting back into his kiss. He lets her, apparently sensing the change in her mood, because he picks up his pace as well, his thrusts becoming less controlled and more frenetic.

She breaks the kiss, letting her head tip back to rest against the flat wood under her, revelling in the sensation of him inside her, each thrust punctuated by a quiet creaking sound from the desk beneath her.

He's starting to pick up the pace, his hips stuttering against hers, and it feels wonderful. All of a sudden, his hand slips under her, pulling her up and off the desk as he leans back. The new angle accelerates things; he speeds up, thrusts short and fast and brutal and it feels _amazing_, each movement slowly building inside her. Desperate, now, Emma reaches between them, angling for her clit. Hook takes advantage of that moment to kiss her again, hot and open-mouthed, his tongue plundering her mouth wantonly.

Moaning into his mouth, she picks up the pace on her clit, not missing as he does the same, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier.

She comes slow and lazily, clenching around him and then going limp against his chest. He moans into her mouth, losing control as he thrusts into her a few more times before following her over the edge.

He doesn't stop kissing her as he comes, just slows it again, passionate, still, but sated. His arms go against the table on either side of her, bracing himself. She hangs against him loosely, hips still resting on the edge.

After a minute, he leans away, breaking the kiss.

She's very proud of herself for not whimpering at the loss. He just grins and returns to her, one arm sliding up under her legs, the other around her back, and he picks her up, bridal-style. She lets out a screech before clapping her hand over her lips. Of course, now she loses control of her voice. He doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow as he carries her over to the bed, gently easing her into the softness. After the desk, it feels amazing, and already she can feel her eyelids drooping.

"How the hell can you even _walk_," she asks as he rolls into bed next to her, not bothering to protest as he slings his arm around her. He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest, and she feels it against the side of her face when she presses against him.

"Practice, love," he says, his hook idly stroking her arm. It doesn't bother her, it's just still strange to feel cool metal instead of warm skin.

"_Practice_," she grumbles against his side, ignoring the small edge of...wait, _jealousy_? Fuck, she's too tired for this.

"Aye, but, if it makes you feel better, you seem to make all that rather moot," he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, but she's slowly losing the battle with her exhaustion, so she just hums against him. The last thing she notices is the covers coming up over her shoulder, and she snuggles further into him.

It doesn't occur to her until she's trying to find her underwear much later that she, of her own volition, _cuddled_ with the dreaded Captain Hook.

Cuddled.

Jesus.


End file.
